


Your dog... Cute.

by BlazeRiddle



Series: Practice [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, AU: Different First Meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeRiddle/pseuds/BlazeRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'i met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning and when i asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that's why you're here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger's backyard in the middle of the night' au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your dog... Cute.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [theappleppielifestyle's](theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com) [post](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/112392287541/list-of-aus-to-consider-where-one-or-both-of-ur) \- I plan to do as many of these as I can, I really like all of them and it's good practice :)

Sherlock had been dissecting a brightly coloured pig's brain - all for a man's alibi, of course - when he heard Redbeard utter an happy bark from the tiny backyard. The detective frowned. The young dog was Mrs Hudson's, though Sherlock had helped train the animal, and he was supposed to be silent _. Unless..._

Sherlock moved to the window and looked down to see a man patting the dog happily. In the back yard. _His_ back yard. The one that was fenced off. _How the hell?_

"Sweet doggy!" The happy slurring reached his ears, followed by bright laughter and another bark. Sherlock frowned and sneaked down the stairs, through Mrs Hudson's apartment, out the door to scare the man off.

When he closed the back door behind him, he stood staring at the man petting his dog for a moment. _Ex-army doctor,_ he surmised, _Recently returned from Afghanistan or Iraq. Not an alcoholic; had a night out with friends. Climbed the fence to harass a dog._ Redbeard didn't seem to mind, though.

"Here, boy." Redbeard darted his way and The man looked up, smiling gleefully as he spotted Sherlock. With a gesture, the detective let the dog sit down. "Who are you?" He asked, petting the setter's head gently. The doctor leered at him.

"Well, hello, handsome." He stumbled closer, still smirking. "Who're you?"

"You're in my garden." Sherlock deadpanned, confused by the blatant flirting. No one _ever_ flirted with him. "Why the _hell_ are you in my garden?"

"Your dog." The man slurred. "Cute."

And he then proceeded to throw up all over the Italian leather shoes the detective had slipped into.

Sherlock swallowed. He didn't really mind gross things, but his shoes would need a good rinsing later. He made a face, then focussed at the man who was still bent over at his feet.

 _Throw-up drunk._ "You're going to pass out in my back yard, aren't you?" He asked, exasperated. Redbeard barked. Sherlock sighed and pulled the man up a bit, unsure on how to handle a person, and managed to support him on his shoulder. He toed his shoes off at the doorstep and managed to move the man inside, out of the night's cold, Redbeard at his heel.

 _And now what_? With the stumbling help of the giggling drunkard, he managed to move through his landlady's apartment and up the stairs to his own living room, the man's movements getting more and more sluggish as time passed. The made it to the couch and Sherlock dumped the man on it, making sure that the man was sort-of comfortable while the first snores already rumbled from the man's chest. Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to work while Redbeard lay down at the couch.

*

"Ugh..."

John came back to the world with an skull-splitting head ache, but forced himself to open his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings and groaned again.

"Good to know you're awake, doctor, but _please_ stop that." A deep baritone rumbled, honey to his tired, hung-over brain. John groggily lifted his head and noticed a lean, _~~gorgeous~~_ man, all pale skin and dark skin stuck in a pristine suit, sitting at the kitchen table, staring down the lens of a microscope.

"Who're you?" He growled. The corners of the man's mouth tugged up fractionally for just a moment.

"This is my house." The man stated, not looking up. "I could ask you the same answer. In fact-" The man looked at John, and the ex-soldier was startled by the bright multicoloured eyes for a moment. "I probably should, doctor. On that note; Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Wha-" John stared at the man, his addled brain taking a while to catch up with the questions. "Afghanistan. How-"

"Tan lines." The man said. He stood, and John realised he'd picked up a steaming cup of tea from the table, and walked into the living room. He placed the tea next to John on the coffee table and dropped himself in a chair, slouching _gracefully_ like a big cat. "You smell like antiseptic."

"Really?" John asked, surprised, and stared down at his wrists, where he knew were the lines from his tanned hands to his paler arms. "That's-" He picked up the tea, not seeing the almost imperceptible tensing in the other man. "- _Amazing._ " He breathed, at a loss for words. "Brilliant." He sipped the tea an looked at the man, who was now preening like a peacock. "What else can you tell about me?"

"You snore." There was a mischievous look in the man's eyes. "Sherlock Holmes." He introduced.

"John Watson." John smiled. "Thank you for... all this." He sipped the tea as the man studied him, unperturbed. "You needn't have."

"You would've passed out on top of my dog in my back yard." The man mentioned dryly. "Could've given my landlady an heart attack." Something buzzed and Sherlock pulled out a phone, frowning at the screen and typing a reply while John rubbed the back of his neck, considering.

"Yeah, that would've been... a bit not good." The man's mouth tugged upwards again and John could easily see himself getting addicted to making this man smile in that way, creating those glimmers in his eyes. Sherlock typed another message, then looked up at the other man.

"You're an army doctor." He stated.

"Yes."

"Any good?" The man stood and stalked his way.

"Very good." John looked up at him.

"Seen a lot of injures, then? Violent deaths?"

"Well, yes." John stood.

"Bit of trouble, too, I bet." The man narrowed his eyes at him.

"Of course, yes." John swallowed. "Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

There was a small pause, a glint in his eyes. "Want to see some more?"

"Oh, _god_ , yes."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this little drabble! If you have any prompts/fic ideas, leave them in the comments or at [my Tumblr askbox](blazeriddle.tumblr.com/ask) :)


End file.
